“But then I must suffer your company.”
The forced smile disappeared, and his voice grew husky. “Jeanne, I know him. I warned you. Don’t let him do this.”
He left her with the protest still on her lips.
IN MARCH, RICHARD AND PHILIP TRAVELED TO CATANIA TO meet with Tancred. In lieu of his predecessor’s promises, Tancred offered Richard twenty thousand ounces of gold. Richard accepted and, in return, gave him Excalibur, King Arthur’s sword. Richard also accepted twenty thousand ounces of gold in his sister’s name, relinquishing her dowry rights to Monte Sant’Angelo.
When Richard and Philip returned from the parley, Philip refused to disembark, saying his fleet would sail for Acre at first light. Joan joined her brother in the dining hall, sitting quietly while he paced back and forth between trestle tables, boasting of his success, mocking Philip’s pique. In Catania, Tancred had accused Philip of authoring a letter warning him Richard meant to conquer Sicily and offering an alliance against the English. When Philip denied it, Tancred produced the letter, which Philip promptly declared a forgery.
“Did you write it?” Joan asked sullenly as Richard related the tale with ill-concealed glee.
“Me? Of course not. It bore Philip’s seal.” Now standing beside her, he nudged her elbow. His forearms were dirty and grainy with salt. As she turned up her nose, she heard him add under his breath, “Though I’ll admit it was conveniently timed. Now Philip can’t hold me to marrying Alice.”
Richard had rejected Alice? Joan managed not to smile.
“Here now, sourpuss. You’ll forgive me for Monte Sant’Angelo when I tell you who is in Naples, who should be here in a few days.” He set one hip against the table, and hitched his foot onto the edge of her chair. “My bride-to-be.”
“Bride! Who? How could—” Marriage negotiations were not concluded overnight. He had never had any intention of marrying Alice.
“The princess of Navarre. Berengaria. And guess who is bringing her.”
What would Philip do when he heard? Bad enough Richard had spurned the French king’s sister. But Navarre was a Spanish kingdom that was traditionally at odds with or alternatively trying to ally with Toulouse. Was Richard still harassing Philip’s vassal?
“I can’t guess, Richard. Tell me.”
“Our mother, of course. Do you forgive me now?”
Gaping and breathless, she insisted, “I never faulted you for taking my dowry money. I simply wish you’d allowed me to offer it first.” Her head spun. “Mama is truly coming? Do you know this princess? How old is she?”
“Almost your age.” He scratched his nose. “Twenty-two?”
“I’m twenty-five.”
“No.” He looked alarmed. “She isn’t that old.”
Richard was thirty-three, yet he had just pronounced her to be ancient. Irked, Joan balled her hands into fists on the table and pressed, “Have you met her?”
“I know her brother, Prince Sancho. I met her once, I think, at a tournament. Sancho said I carried her kerchief.”
“You don’t remember?” Joan wagered the girl did.
“It was a long time ago. But, Jeanne,” he continued, ducking his head as if imploring a favor, “we cannot marry during Lent, and if Philip really means to leave for Acre, I can’t stay here through Easter. Berengaria will have to follow me.” He let the words hang a moment. “She’ll need a chaperone, and I need Mother at home keeping watch over John.” His eyebrows rose; he grinned, in obvious delighted anticipation of her response. “You will come, won’t you?”
She stared. Go with him? Joy washed through her as she understood his intent. How could she have imagined he meant to lock her away in a convent or marry her off to some old ogre whose favor he needed? Richard was taking her on crusade.
AT SEVENTY YEARS OF AGE, ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE HAD grown thinner but not frail; grayer, yet she did not appear old. Disembarking at Messina, she greeted her daughter with smiles and embraced her as matter-of-factly as if their separation had been one of weeks, not fifteen years.
Sparing no notice for the many ships lined up along the quay or the bustle of the men on shore, she asked, “Will you survive your mourning?”
“Of course.” Hadn’t she heeded Mama’s warnings against love?
Her mother patted her arm and turned sideways to introduce the woman trailing behind. “This is Berry, Richard’s fiancée. Be good to her.”
Berengaria stepped forward timidly and curtsied. “Lady Queen—”
“I am queen no longer,” Joan said. “To my sister, I am Joan.”
The brown-haired Spanish princess was not particularly pretty—her mouth and nose were too small, her dark eyes set too close. It made her appear almost elfin, an impression her whispery voice did nothing to dispel. “It is an honor to meet you.”
“And a joy to meet you,” Joan replied, feeling ridiculous under her mother’s amused gaze. “Richard tells me we are to accompany him to Jerusalem.”
“Yes,” Berry murmured, pulling her cloak tighter about her shoulders.
Joan guessed she was frightened and pitied her.
The queen said, “We had hoped to be here sooner, but Tancred wouldn’t let us put into harbor until Richard talked sense into him.” Eleanor shot a look at Joan. “Philip is gone now?”
“Yes.” Joan wasn’t sure how else to respond. Richard had said nothing about Tancred preventing their arrival.
“I daresay Richard could have been more tactful. But I suppose the gold appeased Philip.” Although her mother spoke offhandedly—and cryptically—Joan realized the words were directed at her.
“What gold?”
“Tancred’s. Richard and Philip agreed to divide everything equally.”
“Richard gave him half of Tancred’s gold?”
“No.” She studied her daughter. “Philip would only take a third.”
Though she guessed his reason, Joan asked anyway. “Why?”
“He said he promised you he would not touch your dowry.” Mama’s voice was high and clear. “Richard did not tell you?”
“No, Mother. He must not have thought it important.”
“I simply wanted to be sure you were aware of Philip’s motives. I heard rumors—”
“Richard started that rumor himself. And I would not have Philip for all of France.”
“Hmmm. France would be a fair prize. As I said, Richard might have been more tactful. But,” she laughed softly, “that ship has sailed.”
They quieted, seeing Richard approach, swaggering and smiling. At her shoulder, Joan felt Berengaria grow rigid.
“Mother, the horses are ready, finally. The stable tried to send a litter.” He shook his head, incredulous. “Joan, what is wrong with these Grifons? Please tell me you haven’t been going about veiled like a—”
“Richard,” Mama interrupted sharply, “will you greet Berry or not?”
His mouth snapped shut, and he turned to Berengaria. “Forgive me, Princess. In my delight at seeing my mother and sister reunited, I nearly forgot.”
Joan rolled her eyes. His excuse was as insulting as the offense. But Berengaria seemed not to notice. Her face glowed, and she trembled as she curtsied.
“My lord king, I…I…” Then she blushed and curtsied again.
“Berry, is it? It suits you. I do apologize for the delay. I had hoped we’d be wed here in Sicily. But Joan is so excited to be going on crusade”—he clapped Joan’s shoulder—“I’d almost think she finagled her own imprisonment.”
“William did not enjoy traveling,” Joan said. “Have you traveled much, Berry?”
Joan nearly had to hold her breath to hear her answer, “Not until now. But your mother says I did well.” She looked up at Eleanor with a puppyish expression.
“She didn’t lose a meal,” Eleanor said. “Which puts Richard to shame.”
“God didn’t mean for men to walk on water,” Richard said laughing. “You should have seen what sea travel did to Joan’s hair.”
<
br /> “Richard!” Joan started to protest. How could he have made fun of her when he suffered from the same malady?
He turned his back on her and swept a hand toward Eleanor. “Mother, is it true you are leaving before the week is out?”
“At first favorable tides. You must be off, and the longer I stay, the longer you will.”
“Well, then, let’s leave this stinking harbor for the palace. You should see the city. Most of it is foul, but there are some quite remarkable churches.” He took his mother’s arm and began to lead her away.
Joan turned to the princess, whose eyes were soft with disappointment. She remembered her own sorrow when her husband-to-be had ignored her. And she’d been a child then, with nothing to tempt a man’s interest, while Berry was closer to her in age than Richard realized. She’d probably been in love with Richard since he carried her kerchief to joust.
“He won, didn’t he?”
“Excuse me?” Berry whispered.
“When he wore your token, Richard won?”
Berry nodded.
“He said he didn’t remember winning, but I’ll wager he was just being modest.” She offered her arm, and Berry took it, beaming shyly. The poor girl didn’t know Richard at all.
RICHARD SHOWED HIS MOTHER ABOUT THE CONQUERED CITY AS if he, not Joan, had been its ruler all these years. While he courted Eleanor, Joan entertained his betrothed. She was glad to find Berry decent company. She could not play merels but excelled at chess. Years ago, she had been introduced to Ermengarde of St. Gilles and found her charming. Ermengarde had given birth to twin girls, or so she’d heard. And once, she had met young Raymond of Toulouse and thought he was not so bad as his father. Joan quickly changed the subject. Richard would not appreciate their good opinions of that lord.
On the third day, the master of Eleanor’s ship announced they could sail the next morning. That night, she sent Berry for a walk with Charisse.
“What do you think of her?” Mama asked, sitting straight-backed as always.
Joan corrected her own posture. “A little colorless for Richard.”
“That’s why I chose her. Richard is colorful enough.”
“He’ll ignore her. He does already.”
“Then you must be doubly kind. He’s thoughtless, not cruel. Make sure they marry as soon as possible. He has to get an heir on her before he gets himself killed.”
The thought of Richard dying knocked the wind from her. “God won’t let Richard fall to Saladin,” she said, half in prayer.
“God keeps His own counsel. But I do know John is not suited for kingship. His spine is made of water. And Geoffrey’s son is smart enough, but he lacks nerve. We must be practical, Joan. You, of all people, should understand that.”
Joan hung her head. For her, it would always come back to this: She had failed as a wife and as queen. “You know I’ll do whatever you ask.”
“You must do whatever Richard asks. Support him. Even when you know he is wrong.”
Their eyes met. She felt the tug of her mother’s will, her mother’s love for Richard.
“Whatever he needs,” she vowed. But not whatever he asks.
S E V E N T E E N
IT WAS A RELIEF TO WATCH MESSINA RECEDE INTO THE distance. Joan didn’t feel she was leaving anything behind. Not even Sati, she thought wryly. She’d granted the maid her freedom, believing it unfair to compel a Saracen, even a baptized one, to journey with crusaders. But Sati chose to stay with her mistress. Joan felt guilty for ever doubting her loyalty.
The first two days passed pleasantly with sunshine, calm waters, and a stiff breeze to fill the sails. The third day, Good Friday, dawned bloodred before the skies darkened to gray. Joan’s stomach roiled with the waves. The day’s drizzle turned to heavy rain at eventide.
The shipmaster, whose white hair and deep voice inspired confidence, said, “Don’t worry, my lady. The king won’t lose a vessel.”
Joan nodded, seeing a faint light glowing on the masthead of Richard’s ship. She retreated to the shelter the women shared beneath the forecastle, an airless dark closet of a room with one small mattress to serve as a bed.
No one slept that night. The ship shuddered and bounced as though tossed into the air. The wind, heard through the wooden hull, sounded like a beast’s death throes. They prayed for hours on end, alternating with bouts of seasickness. To Joan’s shame, she could not always reach the chamber pot, but then it no longer mattered when the pot overturned.
Finally they were too exhausted for anything save to cling to each other and wait for morning or for death.
It was near noon before the waters stilled enough for Joan to venture from the cabin. She wandered the deck, climbing over debris. The sailors, bleary-eyed and drenched, paid no heed to her. In the distance, she could discern dark, fluttering shapes that assured her they were still with the fleet, though she could not see Richard’s light.
At last she located the master. “Thank you for preserving us,” she said, her voice raw.
“The Lord be thanked, not me.”
“I don’t see the king’s ship.”
He ground his teeth. “No, my lady. We lost sight of it during the night. We’ve caught the signals of six other ships, but they seem to be adrift also.”
“Adrift?” Her stomach dipped. “Then we don’t know how the others fared?”
“No, but we haven’t come across any wreckage. The sun is out. Tonight we’ll have stars. We’ll find our course. There’s no need to worry, my lady. It was not so bitter a storm.”
If that had been a gentle storm, she’d not survive a harsh one. “Thank you. Please keep us informed.”
One day of sunshine was followed by more than a week of wind and rain. They traveled in a fleet of seven now instead of two hundred. Two of the ships had signaled they were taking on water. In addition to seeking King Richard, their flotilla now began searching for land.
Then another storm arose out of nowhere, black clouds chasing white ones, erasing the pale hint of blue from the sky. One of the shipmaster’s mates sent them to their cabin with the warning, “Bolt the door and keep to your bed.”
Heart pounding, Joan made for shelter, pulling Berry with her. Sati blew out the swaying lamp—the smell of oil smoke thickened the damp air. In utter darkness, Joan found the bed and clenched the nearest hand.
They lay in a jumble of arms and legs tangled in skirts and bed linens, their moans blending with the wind. After a jolt, Joan heard a thud, then Berry’s whimpering. A bony elbow caught her cheek.
“Jesus’ knees,” she swore, as Richard would.
“Don’t blaspheme!” Charisse commanded, her voice tight with panic.
Then they heard a crack. Like a tree falling. Like the world breaking in two.
“The mast,” Sati said.
Above the storm, the shouts of sailors on deck were audible for a moment. The walls sweated with moisture. Joan did not dare stretch a hand or foot to check the floor. Were they sinking?
A vision of William on Messina’s dock came to her. Send the fishing boats back out. I’ll pay what they ask. Her heart cried out, William! Save us.
Instantly, she wrenched her hand from Berry’s to cross herself. William was no saint to intercede for anyone.
Oh, merciful Father—
Tossed against Sati, she heard deep-voiced Arabic murmuring. She understood enough to know they were praying to two different gods.
“Joan!” Berengaria gasped. “I will be ill.”
Joan grabbed for her in the dark and pulled her head toward the edge of the bed, holding her hair as she vomited. Thunder boomed as loud as the cracking of the mast. She stroked Berry’s hair, feeling her tremble.
For a long while, they rocked and jounced, until gradually, Joan began to imagine she was riding in a wain. Had she been sleeping? Berry’s sour breath warmed her ear. They were alive. Heaven would not stink like this cabin, and Berengaria would never be in hell.
The wind had died. Joan unt
angled herself from the other women, waking them into groans and complaints. “I’m going out.”
Sati said, “I will accompany you, lady.”
They helped each other from the bed and stretched their arms and legs. Water coated the floor. They stepped out the door onto the slick deck.
The shipmaster greeted them.
“Lady, I was just coming to—”
“Land,” Sati said. “Look there. Land.”
“Yes,” he said. “We think it must be Limassol harbor.”
“Cyprus!” Joan gasped. They were in danger. “Isaac Comnenus has a truce with Saladin.”
“But we must—”
“Are we sinking?”
“Sinking? No, the ship is sound.” He rubbed the back of his hand against his jaw. “But lady, we can’t go anywhere without repairing the mast.”
“Then we stay here. If Richard lives, he will find us.”
The master turned from her, grumbling. “We’ll sit until the gulls pick our bones clean.”
OF THE FOUR BOATS ANCHORED OFF LIMASSOL HARBOR, ONE sank, necessitating the division of its seamen and soldiers among the remaining ships. Because a good deal of the stores had been ruined in the storms, the master ordered the rationing of food and drink.
The smallest galley set out again to search for the fleet. Its master offered to take the princess’s party, but Berengaria wept and refused to leave sight of land.
“We’ll await the king,” Joan said, both irritated with Berry and relieved for an excuse to stay close to shore.
After a week, several longboats approached, flying rags with the king of England’s colors. The knights came aboard to report to the master. Three ships had beached during the storm, losing half their crews to the sea. Those who reached land were slaughtered or taken captive, but these prisoners had managed to escape.
The next day Isaac Comnenus sent an invitation to Joan and her escort to disembark, promising succor in memory of her late husband’s support. She declined, asking instead for fresh water and food. The Cypriot king refused. Being right about the tyrant was small consolation.
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